


Whether We Dance

by the_moonmoth



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want you to fuck off somewhere else so that I can enjoy my evening," Arthur said, but didn't move away from where Eames had wrapped a hand around one hip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whether We Dance

**Author's Note:**

> First posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/9742.html?thread=19126798#t19126798) over on inception_kink for the prompt _Let's combine dem lips and dat ass and get some graphic, explicit rimming. Eames fucks Arthur bareback then lovingly, painstakingly licks his come back out._ Unbeta'd, and basically an excuse for ridiculous porn, but concrit is still welcome.

Arthur was standing by the bar when Eames spotted him, chatting up an attractive woman with long black braids and longer legs. He'd got his sleeves rolled up, top button undone, cheeks tinged pink with whatever he was drinking (finest malt if Eames was any judge) and smiling so liberally as to be almost unrecognisable.

The woman leaned in, hand resting on Arthur's upper arm, lips brushing his ear as she whispered something to him. When she leaned back she smiled, and Arthur smiled, and she gestured for him to give her two minutes and then sashayed off to the ladies, Arthur's eyes glued to her very shapely rear end the entire time.

Well, well, well.

To his credit, Arthur barely flinched when Eames slotted himself in behind Arthur and breathed in his ear, "After a little action, are we?"

"What do you want, Eames?" Arthur said, without turning around.

"I think the question is, what do _you_ want, Arthur?"

"I want you to fuck off somewhere else so that I can enjoy my evening," Arthur said, but didn't move away from where Eames had wrapped a hand around one hip.

"Hmm," Eames breathed, bending down slightly and allowing his nose to brush the tender skin under Arthur's ear. He felt rather than heard the hitch in Arthur's breathing, the tensing of his muscles. "She is very beautiful, but I wonder – wouldn't you rather unwind with someone you can actually trust?"

"Are you coming on to me?" Arthur asked, turning his head minutely in Eames' direction.

"You need to ask, after the last few days?"

"I... didn't think you were being serious."

Eames smiled and pressed his lips to the rim of Arthur's ear. "You never do, and each dismissal has been like an arrow to my heart."

Arthur shivered and pressed his body back into Eames' almost subconsciously. "I'm not actually into men," he said, voice hoarse.

"A blowjob is a blowjob," Eames replied, "and I do give very," he ran a tongue down the rim of Arthur's ear, "good," grazed the lobe with his teeth, "head."

Arthur turned to face him then and Eames let his hand trail over his body as he did so, coming to rest on his arse. Arthur didn't step back, only stared at Eames' mouth, so Eames said, very deliberately, "You can fuck my mouth all night, darling."

"Leaving now would be a dick move," Arthur said, but Eames knew he'd won because Arthur's eyes didn't even flicker towards the bathroom, and he tilted his head to one side as though about to lean in for a kiss.

"What a good job, then, that you are a complete an utter dick," Eames said, and squeezed Arthur's arse, pulling them together, and watched Arthur's eyes flutter closed for a moment at the delicious friction. When they opened again the usual clear brown was almost black with lust. "Your place or mine?" Eames said, as he tugged Arthur away from the bar and guided him out with a hand on the small of his back.

"Right now, I don't care," Arthur said, and manhandled his way to the front of the taxi queue, dragging Eames behind him with one hand firmly around Eames' wrist.

*

By the time they made it into Arthur's hotel room, though, things had definitely cooled down a touch. Arthur watched him as the door swung closed behind him, something uncertain on his face. _I'm not actually into men,_ Eames remembered, and while that clearly wasn't true if Arthur's reactions to him in the bar were to be believed, it was entirely possible that Arthur wasn't exactly experienced.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to," he said, voice low. That seemed to do something to Arthur, as he stepped forward right up into Eames' space.

"You're right: you won't," Arthur said, bracing his hands against the wall either side of Eames' head.

"You'll be begging for it, though, by the end," Eames promised, settling his hands on Arthur's hips and pulling him forward.

Their mouths met in a kiss that was all heat and wet, letting Arthur fuck his tongue into Eames' mouth. Eames bit at Arthur's lower lip when he tried to pull away, just hard enough to raise it to a high flush, and watched enthralled as Arthur wet it with his tongue, then leaning a fraction forward to run his tongue over Eames' bottom lip. Eames groaned, and pulled Arthur back in, a line of lithe heat against his front. His dick was already swollen in his slacks, pressing wonderfully against Eames' own arousal. Reaching down he palmed Arthur through the fabric, his blood burning in his veins at the sound Arthur made in response.

God, he'd wanted Arthur since what felt like forever, beautiful, unsmiling, Arthur who, it was true, could be a complete and utter dick with no sense of humour, but who could also, on occasion, show such startling instances of genius as to take Eames' breath away. He didn't exactly understand why the sight of Arthur's forearms, or a rare flash of dimples, would make him throb with want, but fuck if he _wanted_.

He'd managed to get Arthur's shirt unbuttoned, before pushing it carelessly from his shoulders and off. He'd half expected a complaint about the likelihood of creases, but the other man was fully engaged in unbuckling Eames' belt and barely even seemed to notice. The intermittent contact with his erection was sending electric jolts straight down to his balls and he let his head fall back against the wall before pushing Arthur's hands away and removing belt, trousers and shirt almost all in one move.

"Come on, I want you on the bed," he said, walking backwards with his hands on Arthur's hips again, until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he sat down, Arthur still standing between his spread thighs.

Arthur's belt was loose already, so Eames undid the fly, watching Arthur's face greedily as his hand stroked down Arthur's cock. He pushed Arthur's trousers down to his knees before leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Arthur's underwear, breathing hot along his length before scraping lightly with teeth.

Arthur's breath was coming in pants, his eyes searing into Eames when he looked up. He held Arthur's gaze as very slowly and deliberately, Eames curled his fingers under the waistband of Arthur's underwear and pulled it down.

Arthur's cock was fully hard when Eames looked back down, standing up against his belly and almost begging for someone to wrap their lips around it. Eames obliged, moaning low in his throat as the taste and the scent and the feel of Arthur hit him all at once.

The weird thing was, Eames had never really expected that Arthur would allow this to happen between them. He would flirt, on occasion, in his own deadpan sort of way, and if he was in the right mood, but every half-serious suggestion Eames made was met with cool dismissal. If he'd realised that simply _acting_ would get him what he wanted, he would have done so months ago.

"Oh god," Arthur breathed, and Eames felt hands in his hair and the stuttering thrust of Arthur's hips.

Drawing back, Eames placed one hand on the jut of Arthur's hipbone, thumb stroking the smooth skin of his groin. "I was serious earlier, darling – we've got all night," he said. Arthur nodded a little jerkily, eyes glazed, face flushed, and Eames was tempted to take it back because he looked _ravishing_ and his own dick was already aching with need.

Arthur gasped when Eames took him back in, and it wasn't long before he was making uncontrolled little thrusts and jerks again. Eames looked up to meet his gaze and Arthur squeezed his eyes closed briefly before saying, "God, your mouth." He broke off to moan deep in his throat as Eames swirled his tongue around the head. "It's indecent – even when you're just – oh – talking, never mind when – jesus fuck – you're using it to – suck me off." He reached down and ran a thumb along Eames' lower lip where it stretched around his cock. "I can't get enough of it."

Eames ran his fingers lightly over Arthur's balls as he pulled back once again, watching him shiver with pleasure, before saying, with great earnestness, "There's a lot more I can do with my mouth."

Before Arthur could reply, Eames let his forefinger trace a line along the skin behind Arthur's balls until just touching the edge of his hole. Arthur made a broken sound, breathing in sharply, and stepped away. "What are you-?"

"Lie down," Eames said quietly, voice gravelly to his own ears. "It feels amazing, I promise you."

Arthur looked at him, chest rising and falling unevenly, for seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours. Then, carefully, he stepped out of the clothes pooled around his ankles and laid face down on the bed.

Eames took a moment just to look, at the curve of Arthur's spine, the dip into the small of his back and the swell of his arse cheeks, smooth skin over taut muscle. He met Arthur's eyes on the sweep back up, looking over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, hair rumpled and falling over his forehead. Eames' stomach fluttered with anticipation because yes, this. God, this.

"Eames," Arthur started to say, but never finished the sentence, dragging in a breath as Eames sank his teeth into the delicate juncture between ass and thigh. He sucked lightly, then drew back and blew on the mark left in Arthur's skin. From there he worked his way up Arthur's ass cheek with his mouth, scraping the skin of the other gently with his nails, until he reached the knot of bone at the base of Arthur's spine. Arthur's breath hitched as Eames laved it with his tongue, and then he stopped breathing altogether when Eames dipped his tongue lower, to where the skin began to descend between his cheeks.

Eames stroked his hands once over Arthur's arse before parting his cheeks, pressing lightly to either side of his hole with his thumbs as he worked his way slowly down with his tongue. Arthur's body trembled beneath him, breath coming in shallow little pants, and when he finally touched his tongue to Arthur's hole, Arthur whimpered, hips thrusting into the bed sheets.

"Shit. Fuck."

Eames tried to sooth him with a hand on the small of his back as he dragged the flat of his tongue over and over Arthur's hole, Arthur's moans coming in a rhythm with Eames' movements. Experimentally, Eames pushed in with the tip of his tongue, feeling tight muscle resisting him, and Arthur jerked and gasped, "Don't."

"Don't?" Eames asked, letting his breath gust across Arthur's sensitised skin. Arthur groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

"Fuck. Don't _stop_."

Eames grinned and fucked his tongue back into Arthur, and when Arthur lifted his ass slightly to urge him deeper, felt a throb of lust that left him lightheaded.

"Is this good?" he breathed, urging Arthur up onto his knees properly. "Do you want more?"

When Arthur looked over his shoulder he looked utterly wrecked. "Eames, _stop talking_."

Eames held Arthur's gaze as he sucked his forefinger into his mouth and slowly pulled it out, watching as Arthur stared transfixed at his lips. Then, very deliberately, he ran the tip of his finger down the crack of Arthur's arse, slick with his own saliva, and slowly, carefully pushed in.

The sound Arthur made was _obscene_ , something guttural and desperate, and when Eames found what he was looking for, that beautiful little knot of nerves and tissue, Arthur almost sobbed with pleasure, fucking himself back onto Eames' finger.

Holding him still with one hand on his hip, Eames leaned in and ran his tongue around the edge of Arthur's entrance, where the skin stretched around his finger, thrusting slowly, his tongue light and teasing, and the whole thing was too gentle, too little at this stage in the game, and Arthur was practically growling in frustration.

"Do you want more?" Eames asked again, speaking the words into Arthur's skin. His own cock was leaking onto his belly but he barely even registered it, intent on Arthur. "It'll hurt a bit, I know, but it feels good, Arthur. You feel so fucking good, love."

"Shit," Arthur groaned, and then, "yes." His movements were sudden and jerky as he leant over the bed, hissing at the way Eames' finger slipped out of his body, and reached for the bedside table. He tossed a bottle of lube behind him at Eames, who took the opportunity to lick a rough stripe from balls to coccyx, Arthur's elbows going visibly weak as he swayed back into the centre of the bed.

Eames poured the cool liquid onto his fingers, distantly registering that his hands were trembling, and then just rested his two fingertips on Arthur's ass hole, his other hand over Arthur's spine, loving the way his muscles tensed and quivered under his skin. Arthur was silent as Eames pushed his fingers in, breathing harsh in the suddenly quiet room. Eames worked him over until Arthur hung his head, sweat beaded between his shoulder blades and in the small of his back. Then he withdrew and poured more lube into his hand for his cock, and when he touched himself it was like lighting the blue fucking touch paper because suddenly sensation came flooding in, bright like a flare behind his eyes and almost unbearable.

Holding himself he rubbed the head of his cock against Arthur's hole, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, trying to bring himself under control.

"Arthur," he said, voice cracking, "I'm going to-"

"Yeah," Arthur breathed, and Eames pushed in.

He was tight, and Eames felt every millimetre as he entered Arthur, fucking him deep and slow. Reaching forward, he wrapped himself around Arthur's body, needing to touch, suddenly, needing to be so close. Arthur pushed back into him, meeting his thrusts, slick with sweat now and dragging in air like a drowning man, reaching between his legs to touch himself, barely even two full strokes before Eames could feel him begin to come. He rode Arthur through his pleasure before finally, finally letting go. He thought he probably shouted when he came, but he couldn't really remember.

What he did remember was lying crosswise on Arthur's enormous bed, face to face, sweaty and wrecked and just staring at each other as they caught their breath. He had one hand on Arthur's arsecheek, fingers splayed over smooth, warm skin, forefinger drawing small, idle circles around the rim of his hole. Every now and then Arthur would gasp shakily as Eames' finger brushed the over-sensitive skin.

Eames had spent a lot of time looking at Arthur, and he could categorically say that he had never seen him so beautiful. It made something in him ache with wanting, despite what they had just done. Tangling their legs together, he brought himself closer, almost until their noses were touching, then propped himself up on his free hand for a better look. Arthur twisted slightly to be able to keep eye contact, pushing his ass back a little more firmly onto Eames' finger in the process, and his breath juddered as he inhaled. Eames felt Arthur's cock stirring against his thigh, and smiled in what he was certain was a very dazed way.

"You're far more of a slut than I ever imagined," Eames admitted, and Arthur smiled, sudden and unexpected.

"I thought you had a good imagination, Mr. Eames."

"Oh, I couldn't have imagined you," Eames said sincerely.

Arthur blinked, slowly. "Perhaps you weren't trying hard enough," he said, and hooked a hand around the back of Eames' neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It was slow and thorough and full of filthy promise, and Eames couldn't quite believe he was hard again that quickly, molten heat spreading through him.

"What else can you do with your mouth?" Arthur whispered, and god, Eames didn't need any more invitation than that. He started at Arthur's neck, breathing him in, the scent of skin and sweat and faint cologne, pressing his mouth to the juncture of neck and shoulder, sucking until the blood came up livid pink under the skin and Arthur rutted against him, wanton. Working his way down he stopped to graze teeth and lips over Arthur's nipples, licking around his belly button, beginning to discover all the little places to touch to make him unravel, and torn between lingering exploration and a growing need to lose himself again in Arthur's body.

Arthur made a disapproving noise when Eames bypassed his dick, kissing over his flank to the swell of his arse instead. He hadn't moved his hand from earlier, his finger now pressed into Arthur's body to the first knuckle, the muscles still loose and open. Slowly, he increased the pressure and watched as his finger slid easily in. When he withdrew it, his finger was slick with something that at first he thought was lube, and made his heart pound dizzily when he realised it was his own come, still slicking up Arthur's insides. Without really even realising what he was doing, Eames leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Arthur's hole, rubbing his lips over the moisture there. The taste seeped into his mouth, sex and Arthur and himself all mixed together, heady and addictive, and he licked at it with his tongue, eager for more.

Beside him, Arthur moaned long and low, and reached between his legs to stroke himself, suddenly urgent.

"I thought – you said – I was the slut," Arthur gasped, sounding as though he had rocks in his throat, raw and unbearably sexy. Eames didn't bother to reply – he could barely even focus on the words. He dipped his tongue into Arthur once more, tasting himself there, and mindlessly rutted into the back of Arthur's knee, completely oblivious to the friction bordering on painful.

It seeped out of Arthur slowly, and Eames licked and probed Arthur's fucked open hole, chasing the taste until he couldn't push in any further. And so he pulled back and fastened his lips over tender skin and sucked, gently but without letting up. All the muscles in Arthur's body tensed, as though caught between pulling away and pushing closer. Eames wrapped a hand around his own cock, burning now and desperate. Face buried in Arthur's ass he sucked again, and Arthur exhaled on something close to a scream and Eames felt Arthur's body pulsing and he forced his tongue in just to feel it, and pulled on his dick and came and came.

*

They slept, after that – an exhausted, graceless sprawl, Eames' skin still prickling with sensation, one hand curled loosely around Arthur's thigh. He awoke, much later, to the sound of a kettle boiling, and then again a few minutes after that with the clink of a ceramic mug on the glass-topped bedside table.

Opening his eyes, Eames squinted against the light, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.

"Arthur, you made me tea," he said, delighted, voice still thick with sleep.

"It seemed the polite thing to do."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed at Eames' feet, wearing the hotel's bathrobe, still sleep-rumpled and Eames felt an increasingly familiar _want_ stirring in the pit of his stomach.

"Hmm, polite," Eames said. "I hope that only extends so far."

To his endless fascination, Arthur's cheeks flushed lightly. "Well, after last night..."

"Last night?" Eames asked, struggling upright and reaching for his tea.

Arthur smiled, dimples flashing briefly (Eames' stomach flipped), before shaking his head. "Eames, I have to say, I am impressed."

Eames grinned. "Your condescension is, as always, much appreciated, Arthur."

"Fuck you," Arthur said mildly. "I'm getting in the shower." And Eames really didn't need any more invitation than that. Tea forgotten, he got out of bed and followed Arthur into the bathroom.


End file.
